


Feral

by Captain_Kiri_Storm



Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Murder, Chronic Pain, Deutsch has a morphine problem guys, Deutsch is a bag of dicks, Deutsch is a little feral, Drug Addiction, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Episode: s02e19, Hiding Medical Issues, Historical Inaccuracy, I play loose with canon, M/M, Medical Trauma, Slow Burn, Surgery, accidental heroes, questionable morality, the leopard ate Deutsch's face, we're talking glacial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-24 11:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30071598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Kiri_Storm/pseuds/Captain_Kiri_Storm
Summary: Julius Deutsch has had one hell of a year.First of all, a grenade exploded in a secure command post and Deutsch decided that he was going to pull a John Wayne and save everyone and himself. It didn't work. He lost his job, nearly lost his life, and found himself hobbling in the unemployment line with people who don't exactly like him. He needs a job. So when he found a certain American POW sitting in a place he really wasn't supposed to be, he's more than willing to work a little deal. Under the table, of course. Deutsch isn't stupid and the man who tried to kill him is still out there.Being the commandant of a prison camp is quite the downgrade from leading the charge in a glorious war, but it's a paycheck and probably won't get Deutsch killed.He hopes.
Relationships: Andrew Carter & Robert Hogan, Gertrude Linkmeyer/Wilhelm Klink, Peter Newkirk & Julius Deutsch, Robert Hogan & James Kinchloe, Robert Hogan & Louis LeBeau, Robert Hogan & Peter Newkirk, Robert Hogan/Peter Newkirk/Julius Deutsch
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

Sitting in the train station smoking a shitty cigarette was about the only entertainment Julius Deutsch had these days.

He smiled ruefully when he tossed the butt aside and leaned down to massage what was left of his right leg. The damn thing always ached when it was cold and right now, snow was on the ground. More was on the way, of course, and Deutsch didn't know how he was going to haul in enough wood to keep the kitchen fire going. As it turned out, the Adolf Hitler Division had no need for a one legged Colonel, so he was out with last week's trash. And since he hadn't been able to change script before the accident, Deutsch had lost most of his money and had been too drugged out of his mind to protest when one of the orderlies had picked his pockets clean. That meant Deutsch had no money and no way to contact the person who was holding his father's estate in trust.

If they would even listen to him. He was a far cry for the dashing, handsome young man he used to be. Now he was a ragged looking old tramp trying to keep out the cold and cursing at the wind. It was amazing how far a man could fall if he put his mind to it and Deutsch had left a crater in his wake that was worse than a failed V2 rocket.

He glanced over and frowned when he saw an all too familiar face. He didn't remember too much of what happened in the days before that disaster of a mission, but he did know _that_ face. Those laughing dark eyes, the way the collar was flipped up against the cold, the easy way that bastard was leaned against the rough siding - the man was used to that, he knew how to keep warm - and the way the hair was mussed against the wind. Deutsch got to his feet and reached for a Luger that wasn't there. Well, that didn't matter - if he needed to kill Colonel Hogan, he could always throw the man under the 5 o'clock Express. Deutsch grabbed his crutches and hobbled over there as fast as he could.

"I don't have a cigarette if that's what you want," Hogan dryly said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced down the snow covered tracks. "Nor am I going to get in the habit of giving a beggar money, so get lost."

Deutsch gave him a long look and grabbed Hogan by the collar. "You're still an American pig, but your accent is quite good. If I hadn't seen you at Stalag 13, I would have thought you were a German, though what a healthy young man like you is doing being so far behind the front is something I would be seriously questioning, _Colonel Hogan_."

"What do you want?" Hogan growled. Hogan was shorter by at least three inches, but he struggled and tried to kick at the cane. "What do you want from me, dammit?!"

Deutsch eyed his pockets. "Your cigarettes for starters. And then, perhaps you can do me a favor so I don't tell the Gestapo what you're doing."

Hogan sighed and fished out a battered pack. "Here, keep the damn thing. Don't use them all at once. What do you want, Deutsch?"

"I haven't decided," Deutsch replied. Then he coughed and leaned against the cold wood to rub at his chest. "Actually, I heard through the grapevine that your commandant is getting married. You're going to need a replacement, someone _experienced_. That someone is going to be me or the next time you wake up, you're going to have a stormtrooper trying to cave your skull in with his boots. Is that understood, Colonel?"

"Crystal." Hogan glanced behind him. "So how much do you know?"

"That you can leave as you so desire," Deutsch replied. "To be honest, I don't quite care about your other activities. Being hung as a traitor would only serve to put me out of my misery, something the new Colonel could never understand. Tell me, Hogan, have you ever woken up and seen that your leg is lying in the snow ten feet away from you or you closest friends are lying dead?"

"No, but I saw a guy fall out of an airplane once," Hogan brightly replied. "Spare me the sob stories. I'll get you the job - won't tell you how - and that'll make us even."

Deutsch nodded and sat back down on the bench. "I'll need money for the hotel in Hammelburg, by the way. Mine was stolen."

Hogan grumbled as he sat down. The view might not have been so good, but at least he blocked the cold. For his part, Deutsch popped his leg out of the ill fitting prosthetic and wrapped it once again. He didn't want it to get cold - he couldn't feel too well down there anymore and the last thing he needed was frostbite. Hogan did cut a dashing figure, though, in his uniform. If Deutsch hadn't been so injured and out of a job, he would have offered to buy the man a nice brandy or a flask of that sweet soup the peasant women sold. It really was quite good, even if he couldn't afford it. He earned his pennies hauling wood and breaking ice now. It was hard, but at least it kept him fed.

"I thought they took better care of you," Hogan finally said.

Detutsch laughed bitterly. "My superiors disliked how I handled things, Colonel. This was their revenge."

"Yeah, killing prisoners tends to make the Red Cross a little angry," Hogan growled.

"I have seen things that would make other men faint, Colonel," Deutsch replied. "Sometimes, a bullet in the brain is better than months of agony and living long enough to see a man holding your still beating heart before he crushes it in a cruel and unyielding fist." He paused and lit one of the American cigarettes. "So perhaps what I was doing was wrong, but is it a greater wrong than handing a man off to be tortured to death? I have a duty to my country, yes, but not a duty to madmen and monsters. And that is why they wanted rid of me."

Hogan rolled his eyes. Deutsch let him. He would understand soon enough. They all did. Deutsch offered him a battered pack of matches and smiled wryly when Hogan paused before taking one. His brothers in arms wouldn't take something from him because he was a failure and this American wouldn't take as much as a match from him, probably for the same reason. The explosion had spared his face, which was a small blessing, but it had left ropes of scars on the rest of his body that ached as Deutsch tried to move. He gritted his teeth, but soon bit into a little foil pack and swallowed a plain white pill dry. It would take a little bit, but the pain would slowly ease and he could just... forget for a little while.

It would be nice if morphine lasted forever, though. Then he wouldn't have to beg, borrow, and steal for his supply.


	2. Chapter 2

Hogan sat beside a very cranky looking Deutsch and tried not to think about what he was about to do. Klink wasn't a fan of marrying Gertrude, but he liked that idea better than going to the Russian front. That meant that Stalag 13 was going to need a new commandant for the foreseeable future. Klink wanted to install one of Burkhalter's relatives, but ever since Kurtz shot himself in the head - something Hogan _still_ kicked himself over - no one was to eager to take up the slack. The krauts said it was the stress, but Hogan knew better. The guy had been a ticking time bomb and Hogan's little meet ugly had only made things worse. Hogan hoped that Deutsch wasn't going to be nearly that neurotic.

"Light, please?" Deutsch held out the cigarette like he was expecting it to be lit for him. "A-hem."

"Hold your horses," Hogan grumbled. "And I gave you matches, dipstick."

"Dipstick. I think I like that one better," Deutsch drawled. He grabbed for Hogan's lighter and frowned. "You're light on fuel, then. Is that why you don't want to use it? Not that I blame you - petrol is hard to get these days."

"You're really making me regret this," Hogan warned. He snatched the lighter back and prayed Deutsch wouldn't take the lid off. "I don't like it when people take things out of my pockets, you know. It's rude, annoying, and downright stupid. You might not be a superman anymore, but you're still a smug pain in the ass."

Deutsch rolled his eyes. It was clear that he was only just holding back his tongue and he popped back another white pill before knocking back some cheap booze. Hogan frowned. He didn't like the looks of those pills - they looked like some kind of medication and he had the feeling that Deutsch wasn't supposed to be taking those. For one, why did a healthy guy need to take pills? Deutsch's leg looked like it had long since healed and he couldn't be in that much pain. There was something fishy going on and Hogan couldn't quite put his finger on it. He wasn't crazy enough to just ask, either. The guy needed something that he wasn't getting and one of that was a safe place to land.

He didn't want their new commandant to get euthanized because he had one leg. Hogan might not have liked Deutsch, but he knew the guy and that made him better than anything Klink picked. Also, he was better than the Gestapo. Going by what Hogan had seen at that infamous party, Deutsch did enjoy a good time and he had a wicked sense of humor. Oh, and he liked cake. The grenade trick was something so stunning that Hogan still had a chuckle over it. In another time, they might have bonded over that prank - Hogan had some something similar when he was in basic - but right now, Deutsch was the best of a batch of bad options. Hochstetter was going to be murder and Klink would pick some dunderhead who was going to be just as bad as he was, if not worse.

The train took its sweet time getting back to the Hammelburg Station. Hogan hoped that Carter hadn't gotten the idea to mine part of the track. He did that now and again, mostly to keep the Germans on their toes, but his little traps had very nearly been deadly for Hogan a few times. Hogan glanced back to Deutsch. The man really didn't look like he was healthy right now. That wasn't good - the Luftwaffe doctor would make his rounds every six months and anyone not deemed up to standards - or who couldn't bribe the man - usually found themselves on the Stalingrad Express. If they came home, they were never the same again. Most of the survivors wound up kissing their Lugers from what Hogan understood.

Deutsch got up and struggled to the aisle as soon as the train stopped. "I will need money, remember?"

"I know, I know." Hogan dug through his wallet and came up with the real thing. "Here. Should be enough for however long it takes. Klink's leaving in a week. It should be enough."

"Thank you." Deutsch pocketed the money without looking at it and struggled off the train. "I will be awaiting your call. My name at the hotel will be Colonel Julius Deutsch."

"Hopefully, you still have the uniform." Hogan helped the man down the steps.

Deutsch gave him a wry smile. "I burned it."

Hogan groaned and rubbed his face. Great. This was the exact wrong time for Deutsch to get some morals. Out of all the stupid things for that kraut to do, burning the uniform was probably up there with applying for a job in the Adolf Hitler Division in the first place. But then, knowing the krauts and their enforced compliance - along with the power of a smart propagandist - Deutsch might have just gone where they sent him. That or he had picked a really swell time to get a dose or morality. Hogan was willing to bet it was the latter. His luck had been rotten as of late, which was probably why Deutsch was going to do the right thing for once. Not that Hogan blamed him, but the guy needed a uniform.

"Are you still enlisted?" Hogan asked. "I can get you a uniform, but it's going to be tight and I don't know what we're gonna do about the leg."

Deutsch gave him a long look. "If I was enlisted, would I look this ragged?"

He had a point. Hogan swore under his breath. He knew Klink never liked Deutsch in the first place and seeing as the man was no longer an officer, they were going to need to pull some strings. It would mean a favor or three from Burkhalter or even Nimrod if Danzig could find them. If Hogan could call von Kaplowe, it would go even better, but that guy wasn't ever flavor of the month and he walked the fine line of being executed as a traitor because he didn't follow orders very well. Hogan was aware of just how tight a spot he was in and that wasn't counting the odd little habit Deutsch seemed to love so much.

"I'll see what I can do," Hogan finally said. He left the platform quickly and turned up his collar against the cold. "Just... don't do anything crazy, okay?"

The smile Deutsch gave as he hobbled away didn't fill Hogan with confidence. In fact, it did quite the opposite.


	3. Chapter 3

Deutsch waited until the Colonel was gone before lighting another cigarette and wandering towards the hotel. He could always tell the Gestapo, of course, but he was fairly sure that they had something to do with his maiming. And besides, the money they gave him wouldn't be enough to live on. No, the best plan would be for him to graciously accept the job as commandant and take the money. Deutsch had no idea how Hogan was going to get him the job, but he was hopeful. The man moved too and from a prison camp as he pleased. There wasn't much he couldn't do if he put his mind to it. Deutsch was going to watch and wait. Hogan was a very smart man. There wasn't much he couldn't do.

Deutsch pushed his way into the hotel and tensed when the others glared at him. He knew he was out of place - his clothes were poor and ragged, he was unshaven, and he had tied his hair back with braided leather. These were fine men and women, wearing silks and furs and standing on five hundred year old rugs. The art deco lamps cast a kaleidoscope of colors all over the paneled walls and made the tapestry covered couches seem to glow in the soft, diffused light. The floors - what Deutsch could see of them - were made of polished hardwood and inlaid marble. Women with their fluffy white dogs drew away from him and a few officers reached for their pistols.

The man at the front desk sneered at him. "I'm sorry, we're not looking for kitchen staff and we don't hire cripples. Get lost, you old tramp."

Deutsch just rolled his eyes and pulled out the wad of marks. "I would like to rent a room for a week, possibly more. This should cover my room and board, no?"

"How did you get this?!" The man snatched at the money. "How -!"

Deutsch smiled. "Seeing is deceiving, old friend. Some of of us like to travel incognito if we can. It gives one a better judgement of the local character. After all, the true measure of a man is found in how he treats those under him. And what I have seen, Herr _Dummkopf_ , is that you are a cruel, hard man and all you care for is getting the money out of a man. It is very cold outside and men far braver than you are freezing to death in Stalingrad, whilst you treat a man who has served his country and his _Führer_ like dirt beneath your shoes. I hope you are pleased with yourself - this will not look good when I make my report to Berlin. Perhaps you will lose your official business...?"

The man paled and reached for the key. Deutsch took it with a wry grin and walked himself to the lift. He might not have been royal born, but he could make a good impression of it. One of the men he had served with - a Wilhelm von Mitzen or something like that - had been a right twit. He was also a count, so it probably came naturally. Deutsch had been forced to school that man on military matters, so he had learned how to ape royalty and do it fairly well. As it was, Deutsch was impressed that it had worked as well as it did. Maybe it was the fact he actually was pissed off and he wasn't just playing around to impress his fellow officers that made it so real.

He opened the door, checked the room for bugs, and stripped off to take a long bath. Deutsch would send for his supper later. What he wanted to do now was get a hot bath and perhaps read a little. He hoped he had enough cash to pay for a few books - the radios in these rooms were crude at best and Deutsch would need enough money to pay off the pharmacist. He glared at his leg as he settled against the carved marble. If not for that annoying thing, he would have been whole and taking in a nice paycheck. He wouldn't have to spend so much money on little white pills that made it hard to eat and harder to feel desire. Every time he tried to wean himself from them, he saw things and felt like he was back on the Russian Front.

It was miserable and Deutsch hated misery.

Someone knocked on the door. "Oi! Is this the Colonel?! I've come to help with your uniform!"

"Yes." Deutsch pulled himself up and reached for his crutches. "Let me unlock the door!"

He hobbled to the door, unlocked it, and belatedly realized that he was soaking wet and had forgotten the towel. The Englishman in front of him looked very frustrated and pulled them both inside quickly. Deutsch just stood there. He didn't quite know what else to do - he hadn't meant to expose himself and it wasn't like he was going to be able to do anything even if he did feel something. The Englishman looked at his groin and back to his face. Deutsch just stood there, trying to think of something to say. He wasn't sure there was anything he _could_ say. What, pray tell, was one supposed to say when one had but a single leg and was naked in front of an oddly handsome man?

"I wasn't expecting you." Deutsch hobbled back to the bathroom and propped himself against the counter. The towel was just a little bit away, though, and he couldn't grab it.

"Let me help you." The Englishman touched his back and handed him the white towel. "There. That's better, right?"

"I... thank you." Deutsch tried not to flush more than he already was. "Are you a tailor?"

"Yep." The man knelt down and grabbed his kit. "Corporal Peter Newkirk. And might I say that you have a very nice pair of legs and something else that I might like to meet later?"

Deutsch doubled over and laughed until he wheezed. "Well, if you can get it up...! It has been awhile for you, hasn't it? Otherwise, you wouldn't be hitting up a German officer, you forward little thing?"

Newkirk just smiled and grabbed the tape. "It's been awhile, yes, and besides - I like human beauty. And you, sir, have it."

Deutsch rolled his eyes. "I am covered in scars, I have one leg, and you dipped my kerchief in raw eggs. If you think I'm beautiful, then you need to get your eyes checked and perhaps find a willing partner down by the docks. Most of them are healthy now that the clap ridden morons are in Stalingrad and Moscow and I have found that the pretty boys are nicer now that they are gone."

Deutsch took a drink of his flask and lay there contentedly. He did like this man - he had nice hands and he was so kind. The last man who had touched his leg had been so rough with him. Twisted the flesh and grabbed at him, stealing his money, and letting him develop a nasty case of bed sores. He almost wanted to shy away from the man, but he forced himself to endure it. Newkirk was familiar in a vague sort of way - Deutsch figured it was the bright blue eyes and the cocky smile. He closed his eyes and rested against the pillows. Then a warm body pressed against his and dry lips kissed him. Deutsch opened his eyes, glanced at the flask, and kissed him back.

"Keep this up and I'm never going to let you leave," Deutsch murmured. "Did Colonel Hogan tell you?"

"He tells me everything," Newkirk replied. He grinned and he stripped off his shirt. "But what he didn't tell me is that you're a decent kisser and it's been long enough that I don't care."

"Stay with me long enough for supper," Deutsch murmured. "And we should do this again - when I'm not half naked and need to finish my bath!"


End file.
